Striding into the dining room, Selina noticed the table was covered with an array of dishes. Her palm brushed against the porcelain lid that kept the food warm and protected.
It was clear the meal had been prepared not long ago, likely just in time for her. Eloise cooked for her—she often did, especially on mornings when Selina slept in after exhausting herself through endless work shifts.
Outside this cold and distant marriage, Selina had been a waitress, a cleaner, a warehouse worker, and even a window cleaner—always taking on whatever jobs she could find.
Only on Sundays could she afford a full day's rest. She had no one to rely on but herself, even if her father occasionally offered support—support that was often limited by her ex-grandfather's control.
Quietly, Selina pulled back a chair with a sharp screech and sat down. She lifted the lid, and the familiar, comforting aroma drifted up to greet her, making her empty stomach grumble in response. It was her favorite meal.
